


Mood Music

by Kamu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi is a mystery, Bokuto drives a cab, Drinking, M/M, NaNoWriMo, adult au, platonic BoKuroo for all your platonic BoKuroo needs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamu/pseuds/Kamu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small segment of Bokuto's daily concerns: bento box art, is-this-really-a-crush-or-platonic-love-for-my-best-friend crush, where to acquire an emergency fund for his rapidly increasing collection of oddly named owl plush toys, and what should be counted as the true boundaries of Friendship™.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mood Music

The music of peace welcomes Bokuto to wakefulness, and he wonders as he senses the warmth of his loved person by his side, “ _How did we come to this, and how did I earn you being here next to me in my whole lifetime?”_

They stir next to him at the absent petting from Bokuto through their tousled hair, his knuckles brushing down their cheek, his fingers tracing the skin of their neck and the wire of muscle, connecting to the angle of their wrists, and touching at the tapered ends of their musician fingers.

 _Play me_ , Bokuto pleas, _as long as I’m fixed and sane, play me until I’ve strung one too many notes._

The hand cupping his cheek responds and comforts.

 _This is a duet,_ the fingers remind. They fall and repeat what Bokuto had done, stopping at the ends of Bokuto’s own and entwining their hands together.

Their hands are kissed, and their thumb brushes his knuckle saying, _Look, you are a conductor._

His beloved scoots closer and nuzzles his neck, and Bokuto exhales a laugh. They hum in content, and they look up at him, and their eyes convey what they must.

_We are a symphony._

 

~xXx~ 

It’s early morning when Bokuto snaps awake with a light sheen of sweat on his skin and the discomfort of a cold night rattling his bones under clingy covers. His head swivels around the dark bedroom, searching. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he doesn’t find it.

Desperation claims him, replaces his muddled confusion with a gripping intensity he doesn't know what to do with. He’s hot, he’s frigid, he’s neither—his body can’t decide.

Whatever he’s fighting, he doesn’t want to battle it alone. He feels its claws hovering over him, in him, sucking away on his ability to breathe.

He flies out of bed, trips on a basket of dirty laundry, and grabs desperately for his phone in the dark.

A barely legible text later, Kuroo lets himself into the apartment. He surveys the basket tipped on its side, overflowing with clothes across the floor. A phone blinks randomly on the opposite side of the room with an ugly crack across its screen. Several bottles and cans of hair product are knocked over accusingly nearby.

Bokuto sits in the center of it all. His eyes are empty as he stares at the wall. His bare chest heaves visibly.

Kuroo closes the door behind him, pads over, and sits back to back with him, letting his body heat adjust to his best friend’s.

Kuroo’s voice rumbles deep into the silence.

“Wanna go for a drive?”

 

xXx

In a city, the best place to get a secluded section of sky is a rooftop garage.

After driving around, they arrive at one that’s cheap and easy to pay together. They pay for an hour, because they’re poor undergrads barely getting by. Bokuto parks with the windows rolled down and the sunroof open to the crisp night air, turning off the ignition.

“I need someone,” Bokuto groans into the steering wheel, “I need all that sugar sweet stuff that makes your stomach sick just watching it. I want PDA. I need to cry, get affectionate, and mostly just cry some more.”

Kuroo, beside him in the passenger seat, pats his shoulder. “Bo, I understand.”

Bokuto looks up with a tear in his eye. “How do you know? You have Kenma,” he asks, indicating his boyfriend.

“Kenma has moods,” Kuroo says with a shrug, “and I apparently have an infinite capacity for cuddles and sweetened milk.”

Bokuto lowers an eyebrow. “That stuff is gonna rot your teeth,” he says, reaching over to assess his canines. “Do you even have dental?”

Kuroo speaks through the fingers prodding at his teeth. “You drive people around every day. Are you saying none of them have caught your attention? It could be like a bad porno, asking an attractive passenger to repay you elsewhere…” He trails off suggestively.

As much as the prospect appeals to him, Bokuto shakes his head.

“No, it’s gotta be like ‘gyun’ and ‘zwing’.” Bokuto collapses dramatically against his seat and imitates getting struck in the heart by an arrow. “Like that, you know?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t,” Kuroo says, an eyebrow raised under the fringe of his hair. “That moment probably happened years ago, or not at all. I don’t fall in love with anyone.”

Bokuto groans again. “I know. You ‘gently’ descended for Kenma. If I didn’t love you like my other half, I would kick you out of Kana-chan.”

“I’m still mad you named your car Kana.” Kuroo looks around the black and grey interior skeptically. “It’s too similar to Kenma. Rename it.”

Bokuto gasps and caresses the dashboard protectively. “No way. I named my baby in honor of Kana-chan, my first love!” He pauses. “Wait, my first boy crush was Kicchan. Does my baby look like a Kicchan?”

Kuroo unbuckles his seatbelt and sets his hands on Bokuto’s shoulders, a grin plastered on his face. “Whatever makes you happy,” he chimes, sickeningly sweet.

“That was shit enthusiasm,” Bokuto says with a teasing glare. “I feel the same about you, too, but you can’t stop me.”

“But,” Kuroo says, eyebrows lowered and his game face on as his fingers tighten on Bokuto’s shoulders, “the best names for cars are in English, right? I looked this up. Statistics, and all.”

Bokuto’s mouth forms an ‘O’ and he points at Kuroo in realization, “That’s! True! Where should we start?” He’s close to vibrating in his seat.

Kuroo points to the sunroof, and Bokuto nods. They get out, slam the doors shut, and lay on the hood of the car, their backs to the windshield and hands behind their heads.

Even in the city, the stars are appreciated.

“Wow,” Bokuto gazes wide up at the sky, “you can still see some of them, even here.”

“That’s because,” Kuroo says, “they’re winners. They want to be seen.”

Bokuto looks over at him. “Before they die out?”

“So they can live at their best.”

They mouth, “Bro”, at the same time.

“So,” Bokuto says slowly, “any names?”

“How about Nancy? Should it be a full name?” Kuroo suggests.

“It’s gotta be clever, though…”

Kuroo slides his eyes to Bokuto. Bokuto smirks knowingly.

“Solia—”

“—K.—”

“Rabu!”

They sit up and make finger guns, falling against each other and laughing until Bokuto almost tumbles back onto the paved ground with a save from Kuroo snatching up his hand a second faster.

“Nice receive!” Bokuto exclaims, prompting a laugh out of Kuroo. His hand stays in Kuroo’s as they lie back, Kuroo on his side and Bokuto in his original position. They’re a little winded but he’s glad to work off some steam. “We are so in sync tonight.”

“I do what I know you would do if you were in my place.” Kuroo taps a finger against Bokuto’s knuckles in a rhythm Bokuto half-recognizes. He says quietly, “I know you needed it. It’s been raining for the past two days.”

“Yeah?” Bokuto brings their hands to his face and inspects them, a nice fair and a clean tan even under the moonlight. “Kuroo, your hands are mighty long! What was the word? Lithe? Your hands are like a...like a musician’s!”

“Bokuto, stop that.” Kuroo pushes himself onto one arm as he says down to him, “If I like-liked you, I would have fallen deeper. Smooth.”

Bokuto buries his face into the crook of his free arm. “This can’t get me a GF.”

“GF?” Kuroo sounds confused. Unlike how he seems, he isn’t up to date on the latest trends on the World Wide Web. Kenma’s a master at it, but is too polite to use them with people he doesn’t know. Oikawa, who somehow had obtained their phone numbers from direct invitation of Kuroo or Sawamura, uses them like punctuation.

Bokuto isn’t an expert either.

“I don’t know, I saw it on a dating site forum.” Bokuto raises a hand to shush Kuroo as he opens his mouth. “Desperate times, desperate measures. Anyways, I think it means ‘Good Friend’.”

Kuroo tilts his head, lips pulled down. “I thought I was your best friend?”

“You’re my bromate, my Best Friend,” Bokuto says, looking directly into Kuroo’s wide eyes, “You and me, us...we’re in this together. We’re like the same person.” Okay, he might be getting a little misty eyed. “But I don’t want to kiss and cuddle with myself.”

“In all seriousness, I’m open for us to do more than that,” Kuroo interjects, squeezing Bokuto’s hand reassuringly. “I’d ask Kenma first, though.”

Bokuto shakes his head and lifts their clasped hands in between them. “See? I know you’d let me do anything, same as I would for you, but I know it would hurt your heart to do it without Kenma.” He sits up, legs crossed and facing Kuroo, and Kuroo mirrors him. “I want there to be that someone who wants to do that stuff willingly, not because they don’t mind—no offense. That two-way connection, the spark I’ve seen so many times in films and in friends…” Bokuto trails off, turning his face up to the stars. “Magic. I want it, so much it hurts. It’s like a physical ache. In here.” He thumps his chest hard.

There’s silence after Bokuto’s confession slash rant. He’s content to end the night on a serious note, now that he professed his feelings out into the open.

“Bo,” Kuroo whispers, “that was fuckin’ real. _Dude._ ”

“Really? But it’s just me,” Bokuto says. He turns back to Kuroo, the joking mood evaporated and forgotten. “All me. I hope I’m real. Am I real, Kuroo?”

Kuroo looks scared, maybe even a little sad. “Yes, Kou, you’re real.” Kuroo slips his hand out of his grasp and sifts it through Bokuto’s hair in the way that he likes it. Bokuto leans in, because the light scratch of fingers on his scalp feels good. He understands why Kenma loves it so much; Kuroo’s always been tender. “If you and I weren’t real, then this says a lot about who you dream about at night.”

Bokuto angles away from Kuroo to shove him with his shoulder. “That’s gay, bro,” he says, half embarrassed, half flattered.

Kuroo’s smirk slices up at the familiar jab. “No, _you’re_ gay,” he replies in kind.

“Yeah, I am,” Bokuto shoots back affectionately. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Kuroo snorts. “I am going to fucking bearhug you, and you’re gonna love it,” he threatens with a predatory glint in his eye.

Bokuto’s suspicious, and he tries to slip off the hood of the car.

The fingers in his hair are too fast for him. They slide down to his collar and jerk him back.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Kuroo breathes into his ear. “It’s tickle time, naughty children.”

Kuroo goes through with his threat and the rooftop is filled with his and Kuroo’s laughter. Between giggles, Bokuto warns not to scratch up the paint job. Kuroo responds by bodily lifting him up with the bear hug he promised, binding Bokuto inside his locked arms so he won’t escape, and relocating them to the ground where they can tussle and roll.

The toll-keeper finds them gasping on their backs, tossing an unimpressed look over his shoulder as he warns for five more minutes. So, they technically get kicked out once their time is up. On the drive back, Bokuto is too caught up with their current topic of conversation, he forgets why they had taken the trip out there in the first place.

When they arrive at their building and head up to their respective floors, promising to hang out in a few days, he enters his dark apartment and the memories are itching to flood him.

He’s relieved. He feels _good_. Bokuto doesn’t want to yet fall from the high his being with Kuroo had brought.

Bokuto looks at his cluttered kitchen and scrounges around in his fridge for a bite to eat. He would rather ditch the leftover mackerel, if he was being honest with himself, but Kuroo loves the stuff like nobody’s business, so Bokuto occasionally grills it when he and Kenma are over for dinner. Says he’d rather eat fish over chicken, and Kenma shrugs neutrally. Could anyone believe them?

Tomorrow, he’ll buy Kuroo his favorite brand of sweetened milk and Kenma a modest enough gift card for that DLC he’s been eyeing with sparkly eyes whenever they walk past the game store on the way to their regular cafe. It’s cute when he gets like that, and Kuroo agrees. It’s the least Bokuto could do for them for interrupting their time together.

(“Bokuto, we’ve been together for _years_ , a few hours aren’t going to be that much of a gap.”)

Regardless, he feels selfish and needy for wanting something they can’t provide.

After he eats, he stays up for a bit, watches some late night variety show as he waits for his food to digest, and manages to knock out on the couch for an hour before startling awake when his TV shuts off. There’s an insane cramp in his neck from the awkward sleeping position he was in, so he heads to the bathroom, because hello, cleanliness never did anyone bad.

When his head hits the pillow, Bokuto slips into a dream about cool fingers tracing patterns on his skin and his hands brushing through silky hair. It’s so intimate, much more than those vague, uncomfortable wet dreams he had when he was a young and budding teenager.

As he’s close to seeing his dream lover’s face, he jolts with the blare of his alarm clock Kuroo might have set, knowing Bokuto would have forgotten to do it with his phone cracked and barely functioning. He’s had experience taking care of negligent friends, the caring guy that Kuroo is.

Deja vu hits him as he blinks at the light peeking in through his blinds. He had woken up in the middle of the night with fear on his mind and loneliness gnawing at his heart. This morning, he wakes up with his hands empty and yearning carving a deep cavity in his chest.

He feels lost. Something awful churns his stomach; Bokuto partially blames the mackerel, seafood be damned, but knows it’s something else that painkillers can’t relieve.

Bokuto groans and wraps his arms around his torso. He waits the sounds of morning jams, half hoping it will go away if he ignores it, but after an insistent five minutes he forces himself up and slowly conducts his hand with the few motor skills that are awake to turn it off.

Now that the terror that is stereotypical radio droning is vanquished, Bokuto shuffles across the bedroom that had been cleaned up last night with Kuroo’s help. There’s little evidence Bokuto had done anything, besides a few cans of hair product out of order (yes, Bokuto checks) and his dirty clothes folded neatly in their basket. The latter was done unnecessarily, since he’s going to take it to the laundromat anyways, but it’s a show of Kuroo’s meticulousness.

 _Kenma, you accidentally got yourself a six foot tall housewife instead of an always-this-nice boyfriend,_ Bokuto thinks wryly as he picks up the note Kuroo left him, naming a shop dealing in screen damage repair, and their phone number. _No wonder we both depend on him._

Friends are there when he needs them, but someone he would give his all to, and they in return, would be there even if he didn’t. It’s the gesture he’s looking for, the _meaning_.

It’s there at six something in the morning with the blinds to his room pulled up and the sun winking over the tops of nearby buildings flirtatiously, does Bokuto confirm he’s actively searching for love.

He props open his window and literally shouts it out to the world.

“LOVE ME AND FIND ME WHOEVER YOU ARE, I’M IN LOVE WITH LOVE!”

“HECK YEAH, BROTHER!” Somebody a few floors down concurs with equal bravado. Bokuto realizes it is the boyfriends (as they called it, “roommates”) who had introduced themselves to the building a month ago. Honoka and Saru Quinn, was it? The guy with the curls and smile didn’t look foreign but Bokuto couldn’t be sure.

Another call echoes after theirs, and Bokuto definitely knows who this one is.

“KENMA SNORES AND HE’S THE CUTEST KITTEN IN THE WORLD!”

A solid thump and “Oof” follows after with a low and distinct keen of “idiot” and “sound voyeurs” coming from what should be Kuroo and Kenma’s apartment and floor. Snickers erupt from Yamamoto from the second floor’s balcony, and jeers from Shouhei a few windows away from Bokuto.

When he arrives to work and spins the keys to his cab on a finger, Shirofuku his supervisor elbows him mid-whistle. “You’re in a cheerful mood today,” she says as she sits down at the table and unwraps the third onigiri he’s seen her eat the short time he had been in the staff break room.

“I’ve realized my goal,” Bokuto says sagely as he looks far off into the proverbial distance, “and that all I need to do is reach enlightenment.”

“Same, same. Just like cake tasting, right?” Shirofuku prompts with a nod. “You’ve heard it from others how delicious it is, but it costs a fortune to get one bite, so you have to wait until your finances are ready to have it all to yourself.”

Halfway out the door, Bokuto pauses and turns back to stare. “Actually...that’s right on the dot,” he says, a little awed at her wisdom. “Not the money part, but the rest.”

Shirofuku hums noncommittally as she opens up a bento box she had conjured from somewhere. “Anything can be related to food,” she glares at Bokuto sharply, “even disappointment.”

He shivers. She’s as good as his boss and owing her things, especially if it’s food money, means death or worse—getting on her bad side. “What do you mean?” Bokuto asks, hiding part of himself behind the wall.

“Well, this cake might not be all that it’s hyped up to be, you know? Just something the people who sell it try to do by bumping up the price, claiming it’s the best thing to ever happen.” Shirofuku snaps apart her chopsticks. “In short, love—ahem, the cake—might not be all that it’s cut out to be, excuse the pun.”

“Is this from experience?” Bokuto hesitates to ask, only his face visible.

“Cake? Yes.” Shirofuku smiles as she stuffs a heart shaped sushi piece into her mouth. “The L-word: who knows? Now, get back to work, Bokuto-kun.”

He complies. His opinion of Shirofuku has changed. She’s practically god-tier at this point. One of the top people on his list never to piss off if possible; if impossible, he learned a while ago how to grovel in the utmost interesting ways.

While his cab is warming up for a day out for work, Bokuto wonders if he should get into bento box art and if either Kuroo or the boyfriends who are actually roommates want to join him for classes.

On second thought, he should follow Shirofuku’s advice. Bento box lunches can wait. His finances aren’t prepared for this kind of commitment.

 

~xXx~ 

On Thursday evening the following week, Bokuto is almost sorry he didn’t take his cab to the shop last week for repair; his distance meter somehow manages to function without sputtering out of power the following Monday, so he’s still with a job. The radio system is jacked up, though, going on and off between stations when it feels like it. As if the cab is mocking him, the sound system is like brand new. It wouldn’t break even in a natural disaster.

Mondays are his days off, despite the excess of clients who are in need of his services. Shirofuku had said, “There’s enough traffic out there, people can carpool it if they have to,” as she marked him off.

Tuesday is that weird day that no one talks about, so he won’t go into details. Average might be the word for it. Bokuto is a driving zombie during the mornings for his first work day for the week.

Wednesday is when clients start to get snappy and tired of their long full-time shifts. Mostly, they take it out on the cab, but that’s the last thing Bokuto wants anyone to do when his baby is in such a _delicate_ state. He admits to yelling at a few careless passengers, and some had responded back, screaming about poor customer service as they slammed the door shut.

Come on. Bokuto has to have some liberties. He drives their asses every day as they kicked it back easy.

Today, Kicchan is on his best behavior. Bokuto only receives one real complaint, and it’s that the passenger in question hates birds when he sees owls are Bokuto’s favorite on his driver description. After a drive of tense and offended silence, he tried jumping out a street away from his destination. A passerby, a gentle giant type samaritan named Aone, stopped the drive-and-dasher by running into him and scaring him stiff with a grunt. By the time Bokuto had arrived, Aone had a hand pressed awkwardly on terrified cheap-o’s shoulder in a death grip. Bokuto had collected him, nodding his thanks to Aone with an offered company card for compensation.

He had then dragged the ungrateful bastard into an alley and wheedled almost all the money the guy had in his pockets. What he found had amounted to just short of what he owed, but now Bokuto has a nice watch in place of his broken dashboard clock.

Fuck that guy, honestly.

Which leads him back to why he had temporarily forgotten about his radio situation. Too many fun things happening, is what. The sudden downpour just about ruins his day. It can be either good or bad for business. These thoughts distract him.

So it’s why when he pulls up next to a drenched salaryman, does Bokuto ask him first thing he’s settled, “Hey, do you mind it being on?”, as he positions his hand over the dial.

The salaryman wipes water from his forehead, his hands obscuring his face from view as he nods. “Go ahead,” he says, mentioning his address as the sounds of fabric rustle through from the backseat. Bokuto thinks he must be really drenched, because there’s a gross squelch as the salaryman sighs and buckles himself in.

Bokuto cranks up the volume and takes off from the curb. The music is loud enough that he can feel the bass near his feet but not so that it would disturb his occupant.

The first few minutes go swell. Bokuto can make out the guy in the corner of his rearview mirror, occasionally glancing at the tops of some very nicely arched eyebrows. They scrunch together as soon as rap pours through the speakers, but the magnificent eyebrows’ owner doesn’t protest. He only nestles deeper into his seat and tilts his head back, enjoying the smooth ride and random patter of rain on the cab roof.

The weather lightens up and Bokuto can concentrate less on making sure they don’t slip on slick streets with a blurry windshield. He glances up to the mirror at his occupant and finds a pair of dark eyes staring back, an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“Um.” There’s a pause as the guy reads over his driver’s info. “Bokuto-san...can you…?”

Bokuto had averted his eyes immediately when they made eye contact, because holy fuck. Is there a such thing as an eye model? He didn’t know there were eye model salarymen out there. Shit, is that a hint of green in his eyes? Shit, shit, he is so done for.

_This is the rumored eye fuck at first sight, isn’t it? [Insert several succinct expletives about engaging in anus coitus.] Ah, gotta watch the road. But who looks like that from the nose up?_

Reminders that sound like his co-workers tickle the back of his mind, all advising him not to let his anaconda do the thinking for him. He’s about to argue that no, it’s perfectly logical to fall deep into those eyes that are like the comforting embrace of the void—

His passenger’s real time voice shakes him out of his inner dialogue. “...change the station...if you please,” is what he’s saying. At some point, he had turned his head to squint out the window, the tips of his ears pink under his messy hair.

It’s then that Bokuto hears it.

“[ _I’ll only f*ck you when it’s half-past five.]”_

He glances in horror at his radio. His fingers fumble to do as requested, but they press something wrong and the radio beeps and goes awry. No matter how many times he presses the buttons, they stay on that _one_ song.

His passenger notices his struggle and sighs.

“It’s alright.”

Bokuto feels his face grow hot. His rusty cab needs to get diced sooner or later, but he loves it for the same reason he’s been staying the same building all these years when there are other places closer to work. It’s comfortable and conveniently near his friends, and he’s grown fond of his apartment complex and neighbors. His years old cab is there for sentimentality and he knows the ins and outs of Kicchan.

When they end up at a stoplight, Bokuto twists in his seat to get a good look at his passenger. It’s hard to tell the details with the dim overcast lighting, but he can make out an elegant nose and downturned lips as he tilts his head questioningly at Bokuto.

Bokuto thinks he would look even more nice if he smiled.

“Yo, sorry about that. Kicchan’s been so moody lately,” Bokuto says with a chuckle, patting the wheel as he turns back around, “I’ve been meaning to get ‘em fixed, but work, ya know? People have places to be, and bills to pay.”

“I’m aware.”

Bokuto isn’t sure if it’s amusement he sees crinkling the corner of his eyes or if it’s his mind tricking him into comforting his ego.

“It’s not my business what your...taste in music is,” his passenger adds.

“That’s good!” Bokuto says with a tad bit more cheer than is comfortable. He pulls up at a complex that’s on the near side of expensive suburban neighborhoods. “Wow. We’re here.”

His passenger gets out without another word, and Bokuto thinks that’s the end of it. He’s almost sorry because he doesn’t always get to see _classic_ and _beauty_ together in one night, much less in a slow week. He should have asked for his number, or maybe, even his name.

The knock on his side door startles him into honking the horn with his elbow. His salaryman’s nose scrunches in a wince as he points down to lower the window. Bokuto obeys.

“How much do I need to pay you?” He cranks his head to look at Bokuto. The late evening makes it hard to see with the complex lights darkening his face in shadow. Inversely, the salaryman can see him in all his red faced glory.

Bokuto had completely forgotten about the basic necessities of his job. “Ah!” He leans over and checks the meter. “That’ll be 1,280 yen,” he says with his palm up.

He tries not to flinch when he feels the scratch of blunt nails and cool coins. His salaryman glances up at him and withdraws his hand as he straightens.

Bokuto is not disappointed, he’s not glum, no sirree. His voice betrays him as always.

“Thank you for your patronage...”

His salaryman pauses on the way up the steps. He turns around and back to Bokuto, and he thinks, “ _Great, what did I forget now,”_ as he bends forward.

“Bokuto-san,” His voice is soft, careful, something more than friendly, “It’s Akaashi. Thank you for the ride.”

A passing car shines its headlights where he’s parked in front of the entrance, and finally—finally—Bokuto’s suspicion about Akaashi’s smile is confirmed.

He leaves Bokuto slack-jawed outside in the dark as he’s let into the building.

Bokuto fishes his phone, yet to be repaired from last week’s incident, out of his jacket pocket and types out a text to Shirofuku, eyes trained on the spot Akaashi had disappeared.

_[I think I found it]_

A car pulls up and honks impatiently at him. Bokuto drops his phone into the passenger seat and shifts into gear to end his shift, and then head home.

Tonight is Youtube Bento Box Art night at his apartment. Kuroo, Kenma, and one of the boyfriend-mates are supposed to attend for the first official session. Turns out Honoka is actually Konoha, and his boyfriend ("You should have told me all three of you were of our variety!") is Sarukui and pure Japanese. They exchange numbers, and Konoha gasps at the cracks on his screen. Bokuto explains he accidentally threw it against the wall the week before. Konoha gapes and orders him to hand it over with a no-nonsense glare, apparently comfortable being the disciplinary type of friend.

“I’m an IT guy, so I know a few places where I can do this for free in three business days tops,” Konoha ensures. He looks at the screen again and shakes his head as he places it on the counter next to his keys. “Bokuto-kun, get a case, for the sake of your phone and contacts.”

The text gathers dust in his drafts, unfinished and unsent.

 

xXx

“Are you dating anyone?” Konoha asks one rainy day.

In the Konoha-Sarukui living room, he and Bokuto are watching the new titan mecha film on their DVD player. Out of courtesy, Konoha had offered to have Bokuto over after bonding about the wonders of sci-fi and robotics. Their fields of interest were close to the same (mechanics and engineering) so they got along right quick.

Bokuto glances over from a bloody shot of a titan’s arm being ripped to shreds by a colossal machete-chainsaw. “Nope,” he says shortly.

“You’re not going to ask why I assumed that?” Konoha tilts his head to search Bokuto’s face. “You don’t look that surprised to me.”

Bokuto shrugs. “Am I supposed to be?” he asks, turning his attention back to the film.

“From what I got, Kuroo and Kenma-kun are legit.” Konoha peers at Bokuto, watching for his reaction. “Real romance novel stuff right there.”

Bokuto sighs at the light provocation. He turns on the couch to face Konoha.

“What’s this about?” he says tiredly.

Konoha narrows his eyes. “You’re used to this, aren’t you?” he says. “Does everyone notice it? Has Kuroo?”

They’re quiet for a few moments with the sounds of battle and machinery in the background. Sobs and screams fill the air between them.

 _“Don’t leave, god, please don’t leave,”_ someone cries on screen. “ _Don’t leave me alone to fight without you.”_

The rain picks up, along with the thunder rattling the dishes on the table. This seems to push Bokuto.

He withdraws into himself, hands clutching his legs to his chest, and his chin tucked into the fold of his arms. Bokuto is taller than Konoha, but like this, he looks small and not as happy-go-lucky as he appeared the first time they met so many months ago.

“Kuroo’s a great person,” Bokuto murmurs, gold eyes tracing the movement of the character on screen trying to bring their partner back to life, “but it’s like narcissism, isn’t it? We’re like one soul in two bodies, but we’re separate. We need different things.”

Konoha feels like he’s encroached on something raw, something thin, something fragile that shouldn’t be seen. It feels intrusive, and Konoha just stepped all over it.

“What does he need?” Konoha asks carefully.

Bokuto lifts his head and smiles weakly. “He needs Kenma,” he ducks his head and laughs without mirth, “and he needs a best friend.”

Konoha watches Bokuto’s mood deflate.

Bokuto is vulnerable.

Knowing where he stands and who he is, Konoha is not the type to take a person at face value. Bokuto isn’t one dimensional, and he can just as easily return to the charismatic neighbor who treats strangers like family, attracting them to him with bursts of enthusiasm and random ideas like bento box making.

Konoha doesn’t feel uncomfortable talking about feelings, with the months they’ve known each other. Rather, he feels sad and honored. It means something, when someone confesses something this deep, this personal and asks for nothing in return. All Konoha can do is accept, and honestly, he thinks that’s the easiest part. Confessing requires guts and courage, and Bokuto has both and more.

He’s decided. If Konoha was offered a chance at happiness, he would get a first-class ticket and give it to Bokuto instead. Konoha already knows what happiness is, knows it lies with Sarukui. Too much would be meaningless. Enough would provide enough space in between to value it for what it truly is worth.

Konoha isn’t a know-it-all, but he’s gotta let Bokuto know the obvious.

It’s what friends do, right?

“Let me tell you,” Konoha starts slowly, “about this cool club I hit up recently. The dance group we saw on TV came there once, did you know?”

Bokuto peeks over his knees at Konoha. “Blessed by the greats?” he asks warily. “Opening hours?”

Konoha grins. “Parties all the time, and it’s especially nice when your shift ends,” he replies. “The owners enshrined the photo of their visit on the wall above their DJ. It’s pretty rad, I hear. Everyone who enters the club comes out with something they didn’t before.”

The invitation is supposed to be vague, and might not work in distracting Bokuto. Bokuto loves to dance, would have liked to become a dancer if reality let him but still—his love never diminished.

The second part of Konoha’s invitation, the “extra something” is the true lure. It should feel wrong in baiting him, however, it’s better than doing nothing and letting Bokuto wallow away in self depreciation.

“So,” Konoha says as he texts Sarukui where they’re going, “are you in?”

Bokuto bites his lip. “Who else is?”

“Me, Yamato, and no one else so far. They haven’t responded to my texts yet.” Konoha grins and nudges Bokuto. “Did you have someone in mind?”

“I was going to suggest our cat duo, but they don’t do well with crowds.” Bokuto flips through his contacts of his safely cased phone. It dings with a new notification, and Bokuto whoops. “Oh, my son is in town!”

Konoha snaps his head so fast he thinks he might have gotten whiplash. “Son?!” he exclaims, scooting across the couch to get a good look at Bokuto’s screen. He frowns. “Either this kid looks really old or your hair is an actual indicator of your true age.”

Bokuto lets Konoha lean on him and concentrates on typing. “Hinata isn’t my son, but he’s so adorable he could be mine.” He wipes a fake tear from his cheek. “I’ve taught him so much.”

“Then don’t call him your son!” Konoha says incredulously. “Call him your student or disciple or something, or hey, maybe even your junior?!”

Bokuto protests, “But that’s too formal for what he is to me! I want to see my cute son get married and have many children!” His phone lights up again, and he presses a hand to his mouth as he shows the picture to Konoha. “He’s practically married to his boyfriend.”

Konoha agrees the snapshot of the smaller, petite kid kissing the nose of the grumpier, sleeping kid is cute in its own little shoujo manga way, but— “Is he coming with? Will the bouncer even let us in through the door once he sees him and thinks he’s a middle school student? Is he of drinking age?” he inquires, questions shooting out like rapid fire, and okay, Konoha may be the nagging proverbial spouse in this equation.

Bokuto’s eye does that thing he does whenever he’s confident or going with the flow, which means he pretty much doesn’t care what happens, he’s only enjoying the moment. “What?” Bokuto scoffs. “That’s silly, he’s gonna be okay. Hinata has his boyfriend to keep him company.”

Konoha presses a hand to his chest, relieved as he switches off the TV and goes to get ready. “Oh, that’s good. Yamato would kill me if I let another drunk friend puke on his pants.”

“Gross, man!” Bokuto says over his shoulder. “Hinata does have a tendency to puke when he’s upset, but not to worry! I’ll have them on opposite sides of the room for you. Although, it’s surprising Saru would get mad at anything.”

Konoha pauses in the middle of slipping on his shoes. “Don’t let his smile fool you, he’s seething inside,” he warns, then adds with uncertainty, “I think.”

Bokuto raises his eyebrows as he props the front door open. _See?_

“Fine,” Konoha sighs as he locks it behind him. He fishes out his phone from the carrier bag he brought. “Oh, Yamato texted back. Some guys from his workplace are coming, too.”

Bokuto is halfway to the stairs and barely listening. “I haven’t gone out in ages.” He spins around and shouts down the hall without a care for Konoha’s neighbors. “Hey, do you think the club has a child reduced fee? Hinata could probably pull it off.”

Konoha has to stop and stare. “Bokuto-kun, rethink what you just said real slowly.”

“Why?” Bokuto tilts his head, not getting it.

“We’re going to a club, not an amusement park,” Konoha deadpans as he walks quickly past before anybody thinks to look out into the hall.

“Oh,” Bokuto says like he didn’t imply his fake son was baby-faced enough to be mistaken as 12 and younger. “We should go to MM land next time.”

It’s Konoha’s turn to scoff. “In your dreams,” he replies. “We both know neither of us have the funds to support a trip like that.”

“True,” Bokuto admits sullenly.

He pouts throughout the ride, all the way until they get let in (“That was easier than I thought.”) and he sees a flash of orange in the bustle of people.

“My tiny bird son!” Bokuto cries over the music, his arms spread wide at the edge of the crowd.

A kid with wild orange hair catches sight of them. His jaw drops, and his tall companion looks about as concerned as Konoha feels when the two start sprinting at each other. Konoha almost looks away, he’s so scared at how hard they might collide.

Bokuto expertly snatches him up and spins the kid around in a hug. “Hinata, how is overseas handling you?” he asks as he sets Hinata down after a few dizzying twirls.

Hinata hops back, hands behind his back and his face flushed in excitement. “Hello, Bokuto-senpai! We had fun! It’s as exciting as seeing Tokyo Tower for the first time,” he replies, matching Bokuto’s enthusiasm easily. Konoha can finally see the connection of father and son.

Privately, Konoha smirks at the cute aura the kid has going for him.

_Heh, he said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’. Ah, adorable youngins in love._

Hinata’s companion, who Konoha recognizes in the brighter light as Hinata’s boyfriend, nods to Bokuto. “Koutaro-san,” he says in acknowledgment. His voice is terse and polite, a contrast to the bubble of sunshine that is his partner.

“Kageyama...”

Bokuto’s eye does the thing as he snakes an arm around Kageyama’s shoulders, and Konoha looks away for real this time to let Bokuto nettle the suitor vying for his bird son’s hand. He heads to the bar, orders a few drinks, and reserves a table. Somebody has to be the responsible one around here.

Sarukui and his co-workers are cutting it close to late. Konoha is on his third drink and ready to join the rest of the party-goers, when he nearly spits his drink back into his glass when he spots Sarukui enter with his gaggle of office lackies.

 _Goddamn_ , slacks do justice to his legs.

Konoha admits to getting too carried away in seeing boyfriend-vision for most of the night. He barely remembers Sarukui introducing his co-workers as Komi, Onaga, and Washio. He does recall legs, slacks, pinstripes, office casual, loose tie, smiling eyes, and _lip, lip, lips._

When he snaps out of it, Konoha is propped up against Sarukui's side with their hands held under the table. The places of contact feel warm like sake. The exposed side: cool and sticky and gross.

The sake, in particular, is drained. The others are either knocked out on the table or collapsed nearby.

"Yamato." He touches Sarukui's shoulder gently. He doesn't move. Konoha lifts his free hand and lightly slaps his cheek, poking at the corner of those lips that curl up even as he sleeps.

Sarukui grumbles and nuzzles against his hand. Normally, Konoha would find it endearing, but he backtracks to his body count and discovers he's short one.

"Wake up, Yamato!" He whispers urgently, panic forcing him up and awake. "Did you see Bokuto-kun leave?"

Sarukui blinks, appearing to have been dozing off for the sake of sleeping.

"Bokuto?" He stretches and yawns. "Yeah, he left. Last I saw, he was talking to some wrestler in a suit. No mask, though, but he didn't look like your typical office grunt; too burly for that. Seemed like they knew each other."

Konoha stops paying attention after hearing "he left".

"It wasn't supposed to go this way," he mumbles, wringing his hands through his hair. "This outing was supposed to be an _apology,_ and now I've lost him to the hands of a classy brawler."

As he calculates the potential whereabouts of the main character of the imaginary game called _“Where’s Bokuto?”_ , Sarukui rubs circles on his back and hums a song under his breath. It’s distracting, soothing, and gradually working the edge off his nerves.

“Are you drunk?” Konoha asks suspiciously.

“No.” Sarukui smiles wider as he kneads a particular knot in Konoha’s shoulder. Konoha has to bite back a groan at how good it feels. “I am simply enamored at how fussy you will be to our future children of owls.”

“Thanks, I learned about this side of me not too long ago. Children are such complicated, wonderful creatures,” Konoha says. He mentions offhandedly, “Did you know Bokuto-kun loves owls?”

“No, I didn’t,” Sarukui replies, sounding a little mystified. “What a coincidence.”

“I know, it’s like we’re all animals on the inside,” Konoha says, then blinks. “Wait…”

“I think you’re the one who’s drunk,” Sarukui says, pressing a hand to Konoha’s forehead. He withdraws it and his lips curl downward just a fraction as he stares down at it. “You just alluded that we’re all furries, or in our case, birdies.”

“Yeah? I wouldn’t be surprised if some of our neighbors are. All that howling and rattling when we’re trying to eat dinner.”

“Akinori, please.”

“It’s true, though,” Konoha defends adamantly, and he’s starting to realize some of the fire in his system may be caused by outer influence. “Yamato, should we go look for Waldo?”

“Who?” His boyfriend looks so confused and mussed up post-drink, what a cute.

“You know who.” He climbs into Sarukui’s lap, all the while keeping eye contact with him. More confusion. What a cute head tilt, and nice collarbones under the popped collar and loose tie. Amazing eyes. Broad shoulders to put his arms around.

“Do I?” Sarukui says as he places his hands on Konoha’s hips.

“‘Course, you do,” Konoha slurs. Gosh, his head hurts. He needs to be doing something right now but it’s so hot. “You’re Curious Saru, figure it out.”

“Ah,” he intones in understanding, then breaks out into a smirk. “You do know George isn’t a monkey, right? He’s a chimpanzee.”

“Shut it.” Konoha thought _he_ was the know-it-all, but who’s the secret sassmaster? This smug guy.

Before he can make a barely witty comeback, Konoha hears a squawk and glances over his shoulder to see a little ball of sunshine skip to their table. At first, it looks like a ball of sunshine, then Konoha sees a fuzzy orange puffball in its place, until his eyes finally stop playing tricks on him and shows him Hinata.

“Hi, Bokuto-senpai’s friend!” Hinata beams at him, and he doesn’t look drunk at all. Maybe it was the inner youth glow that keeps him sane and metabolism irritatingly high. “I heard from across the room you were looking for him.”

Konoha slides his eyes from Hinata’s bubbly face and catches a peek of the dark side of the moon, ie Hinata’s uber mad drunk boyfriend slash shadow boy glaring daggers.

“Uh-huh,” Konoha says, because what else can he say in this situation. Unconsciously, he huddles closer to Sarukui.

“He left with my university senior,” Hinata says. He looks over his shoulder at Kageyama. “Right? Akaashi-senpai needed a ride home and Bokuto-senpai drove to his place before?”

Kageyama nods, doesn’t break his laser beam of a stare. Okay, this is getting uncomfortable.

“That’s great!” Sarukui answers for him when Konoha doesn’t. “Guess we can go home, then.”

Hinata nods and offers a hand. Sarukui looks a little surprised but goes to shake it.

In some little corner of his mind, Konoha knows this is a bad idea. Hinata looks a little pale, doesn’t he? And Kageyama breaks their stare off and looks at Hinata in panic, opening his mouth and reaching for him.

Konoha leaps out of his boyfriend’s lap and crawls over the table to the other side of the booth, hand over his nose and mouth in anticipation.

“Aki—”

It’s too late. The deed is done. Gosh, the stench.

“Someone!” The coworker Konoha distinctly remembers as Komi pinches his nose, apparently woken up from his coma by the sounds of retching. “Get this guy a bag and Sarukui a towel!”

Konoha can’t bear to look, sitting at the edge of the booth seat with his face in his hands.

“I guess we’ll really have to go home, huh?” Konoha says to no one as the yelps and exclamations from nearby people fill the club. Kageyama and Hinata have gone to the bathroom to clean up. “What a night.”

Sarukui, across from him with newly stained pants, sends him a look of disbelief.

“You’re telling _me,_ ” he says. He gestures to his lap. “This is the second time this month!”

Konoha lifts his face from his hands and remembers. He really needs to congratulate his sober, evening self. He searches for his bag under the table and feels for what he had packed.

“No way,” the lanky coworker named Onoga says, seeing Konoha procure a spare pair of jeans. “Senpai, your boyfriend packs you _extra pairs of pants?_ ”

“This is stupid and quite shallow to say this now, but I love you so much Aki,” Sarukui says so convincingly on the verge of dramatic tears. “Let me hug you.”

Konoha throws the jeans in his face. “Don’t go within a meter of me until you’ve changed! After you do, it’s game over. We’re going home.” His face is not flushed, it’s because of the crowd pressing in to see what’s going on.

Komi leans over and whispers loudly to Washio seemingly dozing off next to him, “I think I know who tops now.”

Washio nods without opening his eyes. Konoha realizes then Washio, who is the closest to them, had heard _everything_.

“Fuck,” he groans, “I need a break.”

“Don’t we all,” Sarukui says, untangling himself from the pants. “I’m assuming this is a normal thing when hanging out with Bokuto? What can happen, will.”

Konoha gazes at Sarukui, beloved boyfriend of 5 years, and wonders about the human psyche and telepathy.

He contemplates how much he loves his little monkey—excuse him, chimpanzee.

Konoha lurches and deposits the contents of his evening meal onto his boyfriend’s shoes.

To Sarukui’s credit, he only sighs and rubs Konoha’s back and pulls his hair from his face. That’s true dedication and love right there.

“Aren’t you glad I found you, Waldo?” Konoha mumbles later in the night, tweaking his nose and pinching his lips. “All for the good sexing, I hope.”

“All for you,” Sarukui says, and Konoha doesn’t even need to see to imagine the obvious smile in his voice.

 

~xXx~ 

He is having such a fun time, he tells himself. Over and over, he chants it in his mind as he dances, and gyrates, and motions across the room. The lights blur into bursts of Kool Aid and winter crystals as he steadies himself.

Bokuto recognizes someone.

He wears a suit, sleek black and thick all around, muscles so apparent it’s almost obscene. Others are casting wary and admiring glances at him as he leans against the wall with his brows bent down as he broods, like a model maybe, but what would he know?

“Sawamura,” Bokuto says, coming up to him. “What are you doing here, you rascal, you!”

Daichi looks over at him, and there is confusion in his eyes, but then it turns to recognition, and finally dread.

“Bokuto,” Daichi says, uncrossing his arms and offering a hand, which Bokuto shakes. “It’s been years. I would say I’m surprised to find you here, but honestly? You fit right in.”

“Right?” Bokuto releases their hold and gestures to the place. “I would say the same about you, but you look like you’re in the wrong part of town.”

Daichi winces and looks away. “I’m here with a client,” he says, glancing over the crowd and stilling his eyes on a separated group. Of the group, there’s one in similar attire like Daichi, but he’s discarded the jacket and he’s currently giggling against a kid—a kid Bokuto also knows as his informal son and his boyfriend.

“So what makes you think you can’t have a little fun?” Bokuto asks, guiding a hand on Daichi’s back to his annoyance, if the twitch of his eyebrow says as much. “I can guess what type of work you do, so why not let yourself go while you can? Come on, Sawamura, don’t you want to impress your client? He looks a like a sweet guy.”

“I’m supposed to be the responsible one here,” Daichi grumbles, but the way his shoulders slacken is all the sign he needs. They arrive next to their circle.

“Hinata, Kageyama, do you know my associate Sawamura Daichi?” Bokuto announces grandly. He looks between the three of them. “I see everyone here knows each other! What a small world.”

“Daichi-san and Suga-san went to my high school!” Hinata explains, looping an arm through the arm of the person he assumes is ‘Suga-san’.

“Hinata, you’re the type who has, like, two thousand friends on social media, don’t you?” Suga says with a cute giggle. His eyes fall on Daichi, and he laughs harder. “Oh gosh, Daichi! I did not not see you there, ha ha!”

Daichi laughs, too, if a little nervously. Bokuto makes note of this and smirks as they all look at him.

“Daichi!” Suga surges forward and loops his other arm through Daichi’s, dragging Hinata along with him. “I know you probably have like less than one hundred friends, right? I can see it now: a third are your actual friends, the second third are your extended family, and the rest are professional!”

Bokuto glances at Kageyama. “Your Suga-san is mean when he’s drunk,” he remarks, watching Daichi grow a deeper shade of embarrassed. “I have never seen Sawamura so defenseless and, quite honestly, emotionally exposed.”

Kageyama nods, brow cinched in concern as he watches the trio have at it.

"You aren't worried?" Bokuto asks, gesturing to Hinata clinging to Suga's side.

"He's always been touchy with people who are okay with it," Kageyama says. He slides his eyes to Bokuto. "Koutaro-san," he adds respectfully.

Bokuto grins and whacks his junior's suitor hard on the back. "That confidence! I like it!" Bokuto leans forward and narrows his eyes. Kageyama gulps. "But don't let Hinata take that as apathy. Affection is good!"

"Yes, thank you!" Kageyama seems to take his advice in earnest. That part of him doesn't hate.

"Sooo," Bokuto leans an arm on Daichi's shoulder, "any plans tonight after your client here is done?"

"My client?" Daichi's eyebrows furrow then relax in understanding. "Oh no, Suga isn't my client. He works with me."

Bokuto is surprised. "Oh? Then who is?"

As Daichi is about to reply, a ruckus drags their attention to the door.

"Dammit Lev, I said not to take up three parking spaces in front of the club from last time!" The short security guard up at the front shouts this to a significantly taller foreign looking guy in a suit.

"Yaku-san, parallel parking a semi-limo is much harder than it looks like!" the apparent Lev reasons with a pout.

"There is no such thing as a semi-limo," The poor guy looks about ready to bust a vein, "Please remove your vehicle or you will be ticketed. Again."

"Okay," Lev says, smile unchanging. Huh.

He looks over the crowd, which probably isn't hard to do considering he towers over everyone. Lev's gaze latches onto a giggling Suga and a disgruntled Daichi. He whips his arm wildly in the air and loudly mouths, "Sorry, we have to go!"

Daichi sighs and turns to Hinata, offering a shoulder. Hinata nods and transfers his load to Daichi. "Thanks," he says gratefully.

He and Suga make the awfully slow trek to the door as they weave through the crowd. After a minute of feet dragging and Daichi huffing, Bokuto follows after them and slips under Suga's other side.

"Hope you don't mind?" He trills.

"Not at all," Daichi says. "I wish I had taken off this darn jacket first."

"Oh?" Bokuto says in amusement. "Getting all hot under the collar until someone undresses you?"

Daichi bites his lip. "Yes," he says haltingly, "and no."

Bokuto laughs. "Don't tell me, it's this guy isn't it?"

Daichi's single, "Uh," is enough to tell a whole story.

Bokuto jerks his head so he's peering at Daichi from behind Suga's head. "For real?!" Even he is impressed at his inherent guessing skills. "You know I was just joking, right?"

"That's what scares me," Daichi mumbles.

"Wow," Bokuto intones. "Do what you have to do, Sawamura."

They're quiet as they shuffle the rest of the way out the club to the greatly debated semi-limo with all the windows propped open. They manage to get Suga seat belted in the back seat as Daichi hops in.

Before closing the door, Daichi holds out a hand. He takes it and feels the cool edge of a business card slide in his palm. Daich gazes at him, serious and something else.

"Take care of yourself," Daichi says, dropping his hand to the door handle, "It was nice seeing you, Bokuto."

Bokuto smiles, tapping the card to his forehead in farewell.

As Lev shouts out the open driver's window a "See you later, Yaku-san!" and Yaku shoots a rude gesture in return, Daichi closes the door and they're off.

Faintly, Bokuto hears Daichi say "Did we forget something" as they set onto the road.

The night is crisper and clearer than he's seen it in hours. The clouds have gone away with the day, stocking up for more rain tomorrow. It's a nice night for stargazing, and exhilaration hums contently in his blood.

Sitting on the trunk of his car, breathing in the cool air, face turned to the stars, having a night out with friends, Bokuto feels life is good.

But it could be better.

"Excuse me." He lowers his eyes and turns to someone huffing on the sidewalk. "Did you see a limousine leave just now?"

"Semi-limo?"

"Yes..."

"Yeah...about five minutes ago." Bokuto recognizes this voice but he just can't place it. "Were you with them?"

"They were my guides," Bokuto knows this voice yet can't match it up to any faces, "I have no way home and my phone is dead."

As the guy paces, Bokuto stares at him, trying to figure out where had he met him? He sees too many faces every day, and they all get so jumbled up. He can only equate faces with their home addresses.

Bokuto feels sorry because cabs don't usually run this late at night. The nearest train doesn't come for another forty-five and it's a long walk from here to there. This guy is not having a good time.

"Hey," Bokuto calls out, flicking on his phone and swiping to the dial screen, "wanna use my phone to call your buddies to pick you up?"

The guy stops and stares at Bokuto as his screen casts its blue glow on his face. He hears him gasp quietly in surprise.

"You're...the taxi driver from the one day I was in town," he murmurs, and that's pretty vague Bokuto thinks until he says next, "The owl lover with the bad radio situation, Bokuto-san," as he steps closer to the curb where the streetlights reach.

Bokuto definitely knows this voice and this face. His name comes rushing to his lips like an old friend.

"Akaashi?"


End file.
